Beatrice turned sharply to face him and exclaimed, ‘But that is only five days away!’
Hal shrugged, biting on a plump pear that he had purloined in the kitchen, and wiping the juice from his chin with the back of his hand. “Tis ample time to send out messengers to our guests. And it takes little time to don a gown and march to the chapel. What did you expect, Bee? There are only ten days left before the deadline expires and St Leger inherits Hepple Hill.’
‘Oh, Hal!’ exclaimed Beatrice crossly, her patience with men utterly worn. ‘You and Hepple Hill! Why, ‘tis enough to make me ill!’
She stomped off and retired to her chamber. As she prepared for bed she told Elwyn how fast approaching was her wedding. Climbing up into the familiar and much-missed comfort of her own bed, she snuggled down beneath the covers and sighed, asking the age-old question, ‘What on earth shall I wear?’
After his encounter with Beatrice, Remy took himself off to the armoury, hoping to cool his blood as it sang through his veins with hot ardour. He found Nogood and set him to sanding down his sword, answering the boy’s questions about war while he paced about restlessly, testing various weapons. He balanced a patula in one hand and a pavade in the other, trying to decide in a desultory fashion whether he preferred the short sword or the long dagger. He set them aside and tried to turn his mind away from the memory of two small female hands gliding over his back. It was a difficult task and Nogood did not receive the best of his attention.
Sir Giles came in then and looked askance at Remy. ‘What do you here? Should you not be in the hall getting better acquainted with your brother-to-be?’
Remy grunted, and hefted down a poleaxe, taking undue interest in its curved blade. ‘He and I do not seem to be well matched.’
‘Too well matched, more like.’ Said Sir Giles with frank candour, eyeing Remy carefully. ‘And where is Lady Beatrice? Should you not at least be spending time with your betrothed?’
‘She has retired.’
‘Then do you the same. It has been a long day and most everyone is bedding down in the hall.’
Remy looked at him with a frown. ‘You seem overly concerned about my welfare, Sir Giles, and while I thank you for it—’
Sir Giles clapped him on the shoulder heartily, and grinned. ‘I know well your problem, lad. I am not so old that I do not know how it is to lust after a woman. ‘Tis not only bridegrooms that fret with impatience.’
Remy coloured beneath the hue of his tan. Sir Giles knew only the half of it!
‘But you must contain yourself, Sir Remy, for I would not see my Lady Beatrice dishonoured because of your lack of restraint.’
At that implication his temper flared and Remy set aside the poleaxe with a crash. ‘Do you think I am so pea-brained as to do such a thing?’
‘I fear, my brave young knight,’ said Sir Giles gravely, hiding his grin of amusement, ‘that at the moment you are thinking with every part of your body except your brain.’
When Beatrice awoke in the morning she lay for a long time just listening to the sweet melody of birdsong and enjoying a beam of sunlight that slanted across her bed from the window, the shutters having been left open during the warm summer night. She sighed and smiled, aware of a pleasant, delicious thought that hovered at the back of her mind, yet not quite awake enough to appreciate what it was. And then she remembered.
She was getting married!
After all these years she was going to be married. And then another thought brought her awake as surely as if cold water had been thrown in her face. She sat bolt upright, staring wide-eyed about the room and yet seeing nothing at all.
Remy St Leger would be her husband!
She groaned. And held her head in both hands. Gnashed her teeth and groaned again. Then she paused and held her breath, her thoughts darting about. Was there a way out? Could she delay the wedding, feign an illness mayhap, even have it cancelled altogether? Nay, her brother would go mad and drag her to the altar in her nightshift, ill or not ill. Huffing a violent sigh, she flung herself back against the pillows. There was no way out, leastways none that she knew of.
The door creaked open and Elwyn came in. Beatrice greeted her good morn and then noticed the garment draped carefully across her outstretched arms. She recognised it at once. The pale golden hue of the pure silk had scarcely faded after all these years.
‘My wedding gown,’ whispered Beatrice, and then she looked up at Elwyn with an accusing glint in her eyes. ‘I thought I had told you to dispose of it after…’ she hesitated, for it had been many years since she had said his name ‘…after William died.’
‘Well, I could not bear to and thought it best to wait a bit. I kept it hid, safe and sound, sure that one day you would wear it. Now, at long last, you will. Of course, I didn’t expect the waiting to be so long,’ Elwyn said with a smile, ‘and you are not as plump as you were at sixteen.’
Beatrice gasped, affronted, ‘Thank you, Elwyn.’
‘Never mind, we have five days in which to fatten you up. A man likes to grab hold of a good handful, you know.’
Beatrice had been about to make a retort, when suddenly she sobered and the smile vanished from her face. She remembered the pact. Their marriage was to be annulled. As far as Remy was concerned he would not be grabbing a handful of anything!
‘Come, my lady,’ chivvied Elwyn, worried by the dismal look upon Beatrice’s face, ‘you know I only jest. You are quite lovely just as you are and I have no doubt this gown shall fit you perfectly. Shall you try it on?’
‘Nay.’ Beatrice sat up and pushed back the covers. ‘Hal was most insistent that we not delay this morn, as he wishes to see our father laid to rest.’ She padded across the floor and shrugged on her robe. ‘Is my bath ready?’
‘Aye, my lady.’ Elwyn laid aside the wedding gown and picked up a hairbrush, attending to the snarls and tangles of Beatrice’s long hair swirling about her hips. ‘What will you wear today?’
‘I think the dark blue kirtle.’ She put on her slippers and then went downstairs to the bathing alcove.
It was sheer delight that engulfed her as Beatrice slid down into the hot water. She sighed, her skin rippling with pleasure. She noticed the goosebumps rising on her forearms and thighs and could not help but remember how the same had appeared on Remy last evening, when he too had bathed in this tub. Leaning her head back, she pondered on this: had he also felt pleasure? She cast her mind back and remembered that she had been washing his back, her fingertips moving over the broad expanse of his muscles. A sudden wondrous truth hit her—he had liked it! He had enjoyed her touching him.
Elwyn came in then and began to wash her hair. Beatrice closed her eyes, hiding her secret thoughts, mindful that her cheeks were flushed not only from the hot bath water. When Elwyn had finished rinsing her hair, and went off to see what Cook had to offer in the way of a meal for her mistress, Beatrice lay back to return to her thoughts, so very new and interesting in their content. Her gaze strayed to her own body, and she could not deny that it felt different since she had known Remy. Her breasts felt firmer and tingled with sensation, her face always seemed to be aglow with a blush when he was near, and even her heartbeat strayed from its normal steady pattern! How could this be? she wondered.
Just then the curtain slid open and Beatrice, expecting to see Elwyn, glanced up with little surprise. Then she jerked forwards with a startled exclamation, crossing her arms protectively across her bosom.
‘Sir Remy! You should not be in here!’
He smiled slowly, his eyes roaming in a leisurely inspection of her naked limbs, her slender hands and long, water-sleek hair covering well her female attributes.
‘Is aught amiss?’ she asked, as he stood there, silent and staring, and with one hand quickly covered the scar upon her shoulder, satisfied that her long wet hair and the lapping water concealed the other behind her hip.
‘Nay.’ He cleared his throat and forced himself to look away. ‘Your brother is anxious that
you meet him in the chapel. He sent me in search of you.’
‘You could have sent Elwyn with a message.’
‘Aye. I could have.’
‘But you did not?’
He shook his head, glancing at his boots, at the far-off beams of the roof, and then back to Beatrice, hardly able to resist the urgings of his body and mind.
‘Why?’ she asked, relaxing a little now, enjoying the novelty of holding such power over a man and curious to learn how to wield it. Of course, she reminded herself quickly, she would not torment or bait him, and she would send him on his way any moment now. ‘Sir Remy?’
‘What?’ He noticed that she sat back and that her arm had eased its clasp across her bosom. His head began to swim as he caught a glimpse of rosy nipples. Boldly he took a step towards her, and seeing the slight smile upon her lips, the amused gleam in her eyes, he took several more and was close enough to kneel down beside the bathing tub and take her face between his hands.
Beatrice looked at him, her breath quivering from between parted lips, and she murmured, ‘You must go.’
‘Aye. But I had to see you. There is never a moment to be alone with you.’
‘Why would you want to be alone with me?’ she asked, with too much bright innocence, her lashes fluttering.
He chuckled then, wise to her mood. ‘You are teasing me, my lady.’
She shook her head, feeling the pressure of his large fingers on her cheekbones. ‘I, an old maid, teasing a worldly knight such as yourself? Surely not!’
He laughed outright and so did she, and then she gasped as his lips captured her own. His mouth moved fiercely on hers, persuading hers to open, and Beatrice suddenly wondered if she had gone too far. She was naked, and knew that her strength was no match for his own, should he choose to take matters further. But even while this thought was running through her mind, she felt his tongue slip inside her mouth, and she gasped again. She opened her eyes, and found his blue gaze watching her, taking note of her reaction. His tongue moved, touching with hers, stroking the sensitive roof of her mouth. A groan of sheer pleasure escaped from her throat and she moved her hands to his neck, fondling the smooth skin with her fingertips…
A piercing scream suddenly rent the air. Elwyn entered the bathing chamber and they sprang guiltily apart. She began beating Remy about the head and shoulders with the linen towels she had brought for Beatrice.
‘Be gone, you wretch! How dare you! Get away from my lady, she is not yours yet!’ Elwyn spluttered with outrage.
Remy rose quickly to his feet, raising his palms in defence and throwing Beatrice a look that brimmed full with regret and farewell. Beatrice laughed and remonstrated with her maid.
‘Elwyn, stop that at once! You will do damage to my betrothed.’
Elwyn snorted, ‘Nothing could damage that great lummock!’ She shooed Remy away and jerked the curtains closed, muttering beneath her breath, ‘I turn my back for five minutes and the two of you…’ And then she turned to her mistress with a broad grin. ‘I take it, then, that you have changed your mind about him? Not too young and handsome now, is he?’
Beatrice deigned not to reply, and retreated behind a tranquil mask of silence. Quickly she climbed out of the water, dried herself and dressed, rubbing at her hair with a towel. ‘Help me, Elwyn, for Hal is waiting in the chapel and you know how he froths at the mouth with impatience.’
‘Aye. And where does he get that from, I wonder?’
Beatrice smiled, ‘He is very much like Father, is he not?’
‘The spitting image. Here now, my lady, let me braid your hair and tuck it up, so, for it will take an age to dry.’
There was no time to break her fast and Beatrice hurried across the bailey to the chapel. This was an event she was not looking forward to, and it somehow felt false to her, having buried her father and grieved for him once already. The chapel was crowded, thick with a haze of incense, and she had to shoulder her way through to the front. She murmured an apology to her brother and to Father Thomas for her tardiness.
At her side Remy leaned forwards and whispered, ‘You smell nice. Have you been bathing, my lady?’
She dug her elbow into his ribs, admonishing him with a frown to be quiet. He feigned a wince, greatly amused and delighted with this playful side to Beatrice that he had always suspected lurked beneath the solemn surface. Just then a laugh escaped from Remy. For so long now the tension between them had been too intense, and release, however inappropriate and unwanted, could not be stemmed.
‘For the love of God!’ exclaimed Hal, turning to them both and holding up a hand to Father Thomas, asking him to pause. Then he pointed a finger at the chapel door. ‘You two, begone!’
As they made a rapid move to escape, needing no second bidding, Hal said sharply, ‘Sir Giles, see that Lady Beatrice goes to her chamber, and Sir Remy to the armoury, for I will not have disgrace and scandal fall upon this household!’
As the two guilty parties threaded their way through the crowd, Remy managed to find Beatrice’s hand. Upon the steps, before Sir Giles reached them and whisked her away, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
‘Adieu, my lady.’ His eyes were full of promise and Beatrice left him with several backward glances, wondering how five days could suddenly seem like an eternity.
Late that afternoon Beatrice went to the holy ground where her father had been laid to rest, in a grave beside that of her mother. She knelt down and placed a bunch of flowers upon the mound of freshly turned earth. She felt sad, yet peaceful, resting her one hand upon the damp earth as she spoke aloud.
‘Forgive me, Father, I meant no disrespect this morning in the chapel. It didn’t have as much meaning for me as it did for Hal. After all, we already gave you a splendid funeral in Wales. But I trust that you know my heart will ever be full of love for you, and the good father that you were. I am happy to know that you are with mother, and together you shall rest in eternal bliss. Father…’ she hesitated, struggling with the words that burdened her heart and her soul ‘…I do not know why you have gone to such lengths to ensure that I take Remy St Leger as my husband, but I hope your reasons are sound. I cannot deny that I have feelings for him, but is it right? Is it good?’ And here she sighed her final, most urgent question. ‘Will it last?’
Only the wind whipping across the fields, and the creaking of the trees, and the trill of larks, answered her. Beatrice sat for a long while beside her father’s grave, basking in the bright sunshine and the tranquillity of the graveyard. When at last she rose and strolled slowly back to the keep, she felt peace enter her soul, even though her questions remained unanswered.
Chapter Eleven
Two days before Midsummer’s Eve the wedding guests began to arrive. First of all came Aunt Margaret, accompanied by her husband Lord Robert and foster-daughter Joanna, as well as several household knights, Sir Richard Blackthorn amongst them. Other relatives from as far away as Yorkshire and Norfolk came too, as well as two representatives from the court of King Edward, whose permission for the marriage had been sought and obtained.
The pale golden limestone walls of Castle Ashton and the leaded rooftops of her towers gleamed in the bright summer sunshine. Heraldic banners and pennons were hoisted aloft from every bastion, and from the crenellations facing the drawbridge over the moat bright banners in the household colours of Ashton, crimson and green, were hung in great swags.
Inside the castle there was a bustle of activity. The steward engaged many serfs in decorating the keep and the chapel with garlands of fresh flowers and ribbons. The Cook, chastised and eager to make amends, sweated night and day in preparing whole carcasses of roasted beef, venison and boar. On the wedding menu would also be oysters, lampreys and jellied eels, savoury and sweet pies, fruit cakes, jellies and blancmanges, subtleties of marzipan and spun sugar, as well as huge platters of wafers, nuts and cheese. Down in the cellars the butler worried about bringing up enough barrels of wine and ale to see them th
rough the feasting of Lady Beatrice’s wedding.
There was a feverish air to this busy hive, and Beatrice was only too happy to seek the refuge of her bedchamber, yielding to Aunt Margaret’s strictures that she should remain in seclusion as much as possible until her wedding day. It was here that a pageboy came to her with the message that Father Thomas wished to see her. She was not unduly surprised, for she had expected some sort of lecture from their priest upon her forthcoming nuptials. Beatrice set aside the occupation of her tapestry embroidery—intended to soothe her tortured thoughts but, indeed, was of little comfort—and hurried to meet with the good father in his own chambers, attached to the chapel.
Father Thomas followed the teachings of St Augustine. He was kindly and well loved, his sparse frame and greying hair a familiar sight about the countryside as he rode to give mass and alms and comfort where he could. But there was also healthy respect for his rigid views, which were believed to be divine and imparted direct from God. No one thought to argue with, or against, Father Thomas, and Beatrice prepared herself mentally for a diatribe upon the merits of being a good wife and what her duties to her God, her Church and her husband would be, in that order.
‘Ah, my lady.’ Father Thomas looked up as Beatrice entered his spartan quarters, and he laid aside his quill beside the holy transcript he was penning. He rose from his bench and went to greet Beatrice.
‘Father,’ Beatrice murmured, and kissed his hand.
‘Come, let us sit.’ He indicated two chairs placed beside the open shutters of the narrow windows, overlooking the small cloistered garden that banked on to the chapel. “Tis a lovely day. Listen to that birdsong. Enchanting.’ He turned to Beatrice then, giving her a moment to settle herself, and smiled gently, ‘No doubt you are looking forward to Midsummer’s Eve.’
‘Indeed,’ Beatrice murmured, her eyes straying to a bed of sweetpeas and lavender humming with one or two bees and butterflies that flitted about.
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